


Hope Against Unattainable Love

by TonyPie17



Series: Rose of Every Colour [14]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Flower Language, Fluff, Fluffflufffluff, Gen, Love, M/M, Slight Misunderstanding, Tiny bit of Angst, cuteness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:50:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4309398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TonyPie17/pseuds/TonyPie17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final rose comes in twos, and they go from meaning one thing to another...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope Against Unattainable Love

**Author's Note:**

> LAST ONE YAAAAAAAY
> 
> So glad to finally be done. This series was a huge step for me, and it meant a lot to me to write it.
> 
> This series is finally finished, and of course, this is the longest one in the entire work (Aside from the very first part)

Bilbo sucked in a breath as his shears hovered just above the bush of roses. These were _extremely_ rare; rarer than most other plants in his garden. He had searched for quite a bit to find the seeds to grow the beautiful bush; he’d gone through quite a few vendors to retrieve them. He’d had to travel all the way back to the Shire at one point just to get pointed in the right direction! But when he’d found them, oh, how he’d been so _excited_. They were his love for Thorin incarnated; rare, almost unattainable. Fleeting, if he didn’t take care of them right.

But he _had_ gotten them. And that definitely meant that there was hope.

These roses weren’t actually in the rose bed with the others; they were kept separate, because they required a different type of care. There were many plants in his garden that required a different type of care, and they were all bundled together in a patch in the darkest part of the greenhouse. These flowers and herbs didn’t need sunlight to flourish; in fact they needed the exact opposite. They needed moonlight to grow, and they simply would not get it sitting in the _sun_.

These were the plants Bilbo explicitly stated that no one was allowed to go near. If their protective covering was removed at any point, most of the plants would wilt and die, and there were some that Bilbo absolutely _needed_. (The roses weren’t technically some of the ones he _needed_ , but they were important to him, and he couldn’t let them die.)

To tend to this bush, he came into the greenhouse after dark every night. He pruned it and ensured that it had the proper amounts of water and moonlight, and he ensured that it never saw the light of day. The moment the sun touched it, it would begin to wither and die, and then Bilbo’s chance would be lost.

“You represent quite a bit for me, you know,” the Hobbit sighed to the flowers. They had finally grown to be the size of the other roses in his garden, in twice the amount of time. They needed heat to start growing and then cold to thrive, so Bilbo had to plant them in the summer and wait until the winter before they could be picked.

“All the other flowers I could have chosen to give to Thorin… But you… You represent my feelings exactly. Even though I hope I’m wrong in him not feeling the same. You don’t think I’m making a mistake, do you?”

The roses didn’t respond, of course, but Bilbo steeled himself. He placed the shears against the stems of two of the roses, and the moment he snipped through them he knew there was no going back. Now he _had_ to go through with his plan, otherwise he would have wasted perfectly good flowers. Perfectly good flowers that he’d had to give out quite a bit of gold to have and that Mrs. Gamgee would definitely hit his hands with her cooking spoon over if he let them die without using them for their intended purpose.

So Bilbo took the two blue roses and twined them together, using sky blue ribbon to keep them tied off. He stood up and stepped back from the bush. He turned and walked towards the nursery, placing the roses down on the table and then returning to ensure that all his other plants were watered. He covered them once more when everything had been sufficiently tended to and returned to the two roses. He picked them up and took another deep breath.

“Here’s to hoping Thorin’s smart enough to figure this out,” he chuckled to himself, a fond look crossing his eyes. These roses were such a gentle blue; they reminded him of Thorin’s eyes.

[][][][][]

Bilbo had only used the door connecting his and Thorin’s chambers once, during an emergency in the Mountain that involved an assassination attempt on Fili’s life. Said assassin had accidentally gone into Thorin’s chambers instead of Fili’s and the only reason Bilbo had realized something was out of the ordinary was because he’d heard the thumping of boots on the other side of the door. He’d known for a fact that Thorin was sleeping when he’d heard the noise, and opened the door slowly.

Within had been a Dwarven assassin, a dagger (of Elven make) posed to strike the King in hopes of starting a war between the Elves and Dwarves once more. Bilbo was faster, however, and wounded the would-be killer before he had a chance to harm a single hair on Thorin’s head. Of course, the sounds of fighting had awoken Thorin in time to see Bilbo plunge his letter opener into the Dwarrow’s shoulder and pin him to the ground with it.

Bilbo hadn’t used the door since, but he used it now as he slipped through quietly, light as a feather on his feet. He moved to Thorin’s bed and watched the Dwarrow’s breathing. Up and down his chest went, one breath after the other, keeping the dwarrow alive. Bilbo wondered how he‘d come to love him in the way he did.

He was not here to watch Thorin sleep, however.

The Hobbit moved closer to the bed and gently laid the two blue roses down on the pillow Thorin’s head wasn’t on. He stood again and then reached a hand out to gently brush over Thorin’s hair. Then, he pulled his hand away quickly, as if burned, and hurried through the very door he’d come through, keeping silent the entire time.

Had Bilbo looked back, he may have noticed those very blue eyes watching him, bleary, though slowly clearing.

[][][][][]

Thorin waited until the door was closed before sitting up. He looked down at the flowers sitting upon his pillow and then picked them up. He needed to see them better, but he had no idea how he was supposed to when it was so dark. He picked them up and headed towards the main room, where the fireplace would still be lit.

Once there, he got a better look at the roses. They looked to be a dark colour, and upon further inspection, he found that they were blue. Such a beautiful shade; they looked like the sky incarnate. Thorin’s lips twitched up into a smile at seeing them, and then he frowned.

Why had Bilbo gone to the lengths of bringing them in the dead of night, when Thorin was not awake? And then, why had Bilbo given him two instead of simply one, so that the other could go into the vase? Lastly, why were they entwined together in such a fashion?

These were questions Thorin needed to have answers to, and he knew the only way he would get them was if he went to the Hobbit and asked outright. But not now. No, it was still late, and Bilbo probably wouldn’t be up to answering those questions immediately. He would have to wait until morning came, when he could go to Bilbo and found out when the Hobbit was willing.

His mind made up, Thorin headed back into his chambers, and placed the roses onto the table near the door. He gave them once last look before he climbed back into his own bed and dozed off.

As he dreamed, visions of a beautiful wedding filled with blue flowers and a smiling face danced behind the King’s eyelids.

[][][][][]

The next morning Thorin sought out his Hobbit friend; first in his smial and then in the Garden. The roses were in his hands when he spotted Bilbo, who was bent over a patch of (what Thorin thought was) red Carnations. He wondered what they meant; Bilbo didn’t always tell him the meanings of flowers. He remembered the blue roses in his hands and looked down at them, pondering on their meanings when he noticed that they were beginning to wilt extremely fast.

“Durin’s beard!” he exclaimed as he looked around, trying to figure out what to do. That caught Bilbo’s attention immediately, and the Hobbit looked back to see what the problem was. When he spotted the roses in Thorin’s hand, he hopped up immediately, almost knocking over a flower pot, and quickly snatched them out of Thorin’s hands. He rushed over to the part of the greenhouse the Dwarrows were never allowed near and ducked under the curtain there.

Thorin followed behind him, though he was often told not to.

“Bilbo?” he called softly, and there was silence for a moment before Bilbo let out a soft, sad, sound. He emerged from behind the tented area with the two flowers (both now thoroughly wilted and definitely dead), and sighed.

“They were the loveliest shade, too,” he murmured. He looked up at Thorin, who was confused by the ordeal. The smaller being looked down.

“They don’t―” Bilbo took a breath, and then looked up at Thorin again. “These are very special roses. They can’t survive in sunlight.”

Thorin’s brow knit together for a moment, and then he realized what Bilbo was saying. There was a _reason_ why Bilbo had brought them in the dead of night. They wouldn’t have survived if he’d brought them any other time of day.

“They represent how I feel about you, Thorin,” Bilbo said now, and that caught Thorin’s attention like nothing else.

“How you feel about me?” He took a small step closer to Bilbo. “Bilbo… What do they mean?”

Bilbo stared down at the dead plants a little ruefully. They had been sort of tiptoeing about each other, but he was so sure Thorin felt the same way. He was _so sure of it_. If he thought that even for a second Thorin didn’t feel the same way, then he would back down from a chance at the happiness his parents had once had.

He wanted that happiness. For himself and for Thorin.

“Bilbo?” Thorin tried to look at Bilbo’s face. When the Hobbit finally looked up, he had steeled his resolve.

“They mean hope,” he started, “Against a love I keep thinking is unattainable.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to not get upset over the flowers. They were _dead_ now. And if Thorin didn’t feel the same way then Bilbo would feel on the inside how the roses looked. (For a little while; his Uncle had been rejected by the love of his life and, though it had taken quite a few years, he’d eventually gotten over it. Granted, he was never the same again. Bilbo supposed he could deal with that worst-case-scenario.)

Thorin mulled the words over. So Bilbo felt as though his love was unattainable? But he said they meant hope against it. Did that mean that Bilbo _hoped_ that his love could be attained? His love could only be directed towards one person; the person he’d given the roses to. Which was Thorin.

Which meant that Thorin had, accidentally, killed the roses that were supposed to represent Bilbo’s hope for love.

“Bilbo…” Thorin’s eyes turned soft, and he brought his hands up to cup Bilbo’s own, which still held the flowers.

That was the third time Thorin had said his name. Three times in a different tone; first curious, then hesitant, and finally―what was that emotion in his tone now? Bilbo had heard it before, used by his mother to address his father when she wanted him to know how she felt after she’d done something to upset him. His grandfather had used the tone often with his grandmother, too.

“I don’t think these flowers fit,” Thorin said now, and there it was. Bilbo flinched a bit, but managed to smile. He had been wrong about everything, then.

“You’re right. Probably should’ve given something else. Scabiosa… Purple verbena… Purple Hyacinth…” He snorted. “ _Dogwood_.”

“I don’t know what those mean, but I’m sure none could have expressed your feelings for me better than a simple _red_ rose could have,” Thorin stated. He finally managed to catch Bilbo’s eyes, and Bilbo was so very surprised to see the pure, unadulterated, _love_ and _admiration_ in those blue, blue, eyes.

“If there is nothing I know better, it is that red roses mean I love you.” The Dwarrow smiled. Bilbo was caught by the look on the King’s face, absolutely stuck. He couldn’t even believe what he was hearing.

“You―I―what?” he stuttered. Thorin laughed, pulled Bilbo closer and, without further ado, proceeded to kiss the Hobbit. It took Bilbo a second to register what was happening before he was reciprocating, giving the kiss everything he had.

When they pulled away from each other, they were both breathless, and Bilbo felt like he was floating in the clouds.

“Oh,” was all he could manage to say, and that made Thorin’s smile widen. Bilbo smiled as well, and looked down, not meeting Thorin’s eyes.

That was when he saw the roses, and the sight brought tears to his eyes.

They were no longer dead; in fact, they were in completely full bloom, and they had gone from their sky blue colour to a deep, deep, blue, almost purple in colouring. He made a strangled noise in his throat, and then looked up at Thorin again.

“They’re alive,” he breathed, and then he started laughing. Thorin was confused; at both the roses and Bilbo.

“Why are they alive? You said they wouldn’t survive in the sun,” Thorin frowned.

“They wouldn’t,” Bilbo was giggling now, “Not unless they had something other than light to make them grow.”

Thorin didn’t quite understand what Bilbo meant by that, but the Hobbit was happy, so very, very happy. The Dwarrow King knew he would never truly understand what had caused the flowers to return to their radiance, but he knew they were absolutely stunning. And so was Bilbo, with that wonderful smile on his face.

“What do they mean now?” he asked.

Bilbo directed his smile from the roses to Thorin, feeling positively ecstatic.

“They mean enchanted love.”

[][][][][]

The wedding ceremony, months later, was grand and wonderful. All the Dwarrows of the company wore the flowers they’d been given, and Bilbo made sure that he had a rose of his own to wear as well. The hall was filled with them and the mountain was lively.

When it came time for dinner, a bouquet filled with thirteen beautiful roses sat on the table. In the very middle of the bouquet, there was a deep blue rose.

The rose Bilbo was the proudest of.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if the ending seems a little rushed, though, I had finally come down to the home stretch and was getting ready to be done when I realized I sorta needed something so that I could sorta skip over an important something so that I can start the next work that's sorta a continuation of this one.
> 
> Okay so flower meanings? Yes?
> 
> The deep blue, purplish, rose - I took a few liberties with this one and you see it means enchanted love, because lavender roses mean enchantment.  
> Red Carnations - "My Heart Aches For You"; Admiration  
> Scabiosa - Unfortunate love  
> Purple verbena - "I weep for you"; Regret  
> Purple hyacinth - "Please Forgive Me"; Sorrow  
> Dogwood - "Am I Indifferent To You?"
> 
> Also I sort of cheated with the blue roses, since those don't occur naturally in nature (they're just white roses dyed blue) but since this is Middle Earth, I've decided that they _do_ occur naturally in nature but are just super extra rare and probably only grow in caves where sunlight never touches.
> 
> Lastly, get ready for the sequel series to be up probably tomorrow or Saturday. Though I'm not gonna call it a series, since it'll just be a multi-chaptered story about, well, you'll see! (Here's a hint, it's another flower story~ I do so love my plants!)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
